Laughing

Sprawled on my soft leather sofa One Sunday after church service Reading Okara’s “Spirit of the Wind” And my infant son is sleeping nearby: He would never leave me alone. I couldn’t tell whether I was reading Because he was asleep or He was asleep because I was reading. But from the wind came the laughter of my Neighbour’s kids From over at the garden Where they gather to play And the wind keeps blowing. Oh how they laugh such laughable laughter. Freely they laugh hysterically, sillily As if their lives depended on it. Their high pitched chattering Their piercing shouts Twittering trough to my juvenile repertoires Exhuming them from the cemetery of memory To haunt my childhood chronicles. This was me again Laughing crazily in the garden And on my sofa He is up from his siesta, my son He sees my laughing quietly, He joins me.